


hallowed in the halls of existence, we blink

by Lexis_Cheshire



Category: Lunch Club, SMPLive, The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (which are all at least a little bit changed from both comic and show), and a whole lot of worldbuilding on their powers, i do have a full timeline if anyone is interested, lc tua crossover!, tagged in order of appearance + number!, very short..., yeah just prose as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:54:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25762441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexis_Cheshire/pseuds/Lexis_Cheshire
Summary: So. Lunch Club TUA crossover au! a b u n c h of things are changed So don't worry about gore, viscera, etcetera. far shorter than I'd like, but there's more if people are interested! hope you enjoy!EDIT 1/6/2021: This work was written before the reveal of the horrendous actions of content creator callmec*rson. I do not in any way support the actions of cmc and do not wish to represent him. Thus, this work will be officially discontinued from further writing, as it cannot progress without the plot-heavy character. the document outlining the alterations/the timeline and exposition has been linked in the end notes.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37





	hallowed in the halls of existence, we blink

a man walks through the streets, bright as the lampposts in white, looming over the storefronts in improbable height. his eyes gleam with starshine, moonbeams trailing him like spotlights—his jaw catches the eye of streaking asteroids, reflective and bright. his smile is wide and as perfectly pressed as his pants, as the immaculate form of his folded hands—he stands ramrod straight, still and precise as the unmoving planes of his face as he moves with unnerring, unearthly grace. he strolls in military time, picking through detritus with unmarred clothes, straight into the night. you look back the way he came. a metal door is torn off its hinges.

a wavering form stands knee-deep in the tide, a glinting hook cast into the ocean, silhouette indistinct from the darkened seas. he takes in the expanse of shore with lidded eyes and salt-swept skin, water dripping from seaweed-tangled hair. steel twists between untouched knuckles, blade brushing against skin and drawing nothing but air as it spins into a vicious blur. the metal flies from his palm, soaring though the air—and curves back around a tree into his hand. he turns, walking into the ocean without pause, sinking below the waves. he doesn’t come back up. 

a businessman strides down the avenue, stepping on plate after plate engraved metal with near-tangible confidence, gesturing expansively as he speaks impossibly beautiful paradises into reality. he moves through the crowds as if he was born for it, entranced bystanders parting before him, joining his entourage of dream-dazed audience. you listen, and your feet take you closer, and you find yourself chasing the trailing onlookers. he ends his impromptu monologue with a snap of his fingers, and you shake yourself back into reality as he slides into a taxi, unruffled—effortlessly elegant as he cuts off the gathering crowd. you look down at the star you've all crowded around. it bears his name. 

there is a figure swaying on the corner of the street. a manic smile decorates his face, accentuated with iridescent dragonflies and the bioluminescent veins of Slime users, a roadmap of violet adrenaline running across his skin. wide, acid-bright pupils settle on—something—beside him? or behind him...or behind you. he waves, grinning, green weaving through his fingers—ghastly faces flicker in the bounds of your vision, rotted hands reaching—you whirl around to nothing, heart in your throat. the concrete glimmers with the imprints of bare feet as he drifts off, laughing.

a man—no, a teen—no—a—

a man? sits in a booth. you stare. his skin is clear, his face smooth, in all accounts undoubtedly young, but his gaze—his gaze is both hollow and piercing, an elephants needle filled with an eternity you cannot name and do not wish to. in them you see the world, broken and flooded, a second end with no saving ark. his hand scrawls incomprehensibly over ink-stained paper, lightning-quick, and you slide your eyes away from his, unnerved by the desolate, windblown portals looking back. you take another glance as black flares in the corner of your sight—he’s gone.

a musician stands on stage, flute clasped between steady hands. he plays with a fervor, bearing down on notes with fireglitter eyes and rage born from surviving, crowned in gold and skylight and a lifetime of second chances. his fingers are quick and sure, confidence radiating from every pore as notes of honey and fire seep through the air. he is mesmerizing, a masterpiece written in vibration as the air turns to sound turns to searing shockwave, an orchestra condensed into one. the song comes to a close, and he bows. the sun goes out.

when the lights come back on, he is nowhere to be seen.

a kid (for he is just a kid, just a kid, and the world is so very cruel) kneels on the polished floor. desperation guides his movement as he curls around his stomach, pushing against the forces under his flesh. he clutches at his skin, panting, panic written in every plane of his body as it ripples under his hands. he looks around for help—what can you do? what can you do to save him from himself? you bow your head. an unearthly roar rings out, clawing at your ribs with instinctual fear and seizing you in its vicelike grip, shaking you of your foundations. the boy just closes his eyes. you follow suit.

screaming joins the knell of beasts.

**Author's Note:**

> Just to be clear:  
> Ted-Number One-Milky Way  
> Cooper-Number Two-The Leviathan  
> Schlatt-Number Three-The Wordsmith  
> Charlie-Number Four-The Savior(The Resurrection)  
> Noah-Number Five-The Shadow(The Vanished)  
> Travis-Number Six-The Beast(The Clawed)  
> Carson-Number Seven-The Golden Flute
> 
> the document containing exposition and the planned timeline:  
> https://pastebin.com/DxMvnyCr


End file.
